


And then you substitute the hat for a crown

by Dark_Ithil



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Dwarf Courting, Emotional Constipation, I'm a hopeless romantic, Love Confessions, M/M, Meddling younger brothers, Not Beta Read, Secret Admirer, Social Anxiety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-25
Updated: 2015-02-01
Packaged: 2018-01-17 00:26:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1367209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dark_Ithil/pseuds/Dark_Ithil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <b>aka 14 is a lucky number indeed</b>
</p><p>Bofur is a kind dwarf. He can indulge his own heart and give the courting presents to the one he loves. Yet he is also a dwarf with common sense so he should indulge his <i>head</i> and give the presents secretly. And this way it would go on for Vala knows how long if certain younger brothers would not interfere, or that is to say, if Kili didn't catch him in the act and possibly give Bofur a kick in the right direction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Caught in the act

Deep into the tunnels of Erebor a door creaks open. Light spills into a room.

There it stands – a table, made of huge oak tree, with massive, magnificent legs, covered with intricate designs and not for the first time his mind is marveled at the craftsmanship. _Tough it out, lad, don't get distracted – it's not what you came here for._

Bofur steps closer to the table; the surface is flooded with paper but it is not left untidy – there are no heaps of forgotten paperwork threatening to fall on the floor, for its owner would not let such heaps to form.

With a hand that shakes just barely Bofur places an ivory figurine on the table. He stares at it then sighs, the deed is done.

"So that's who our mysterious dwarf is," a voice from the open doorway startles him, and for a second Bofur's heart stops, but as he spins around the toymaker lets a wavering sigh of relief – it's not _him_ , it's just his brother.

Kili is leaning against the door frame with folded arms and is wearing a rather discomforting little smile, it does not bode well for the other dwarf.

Bofur does not know what to say, he was caught in the act, there is no denying it. At least it is not Fili who cornered him, but he does feel cornered for Kili is blocking the way out and doesn't look like he is about to move anytime soon. Well, the younger dwarf was usually easy to deal with so Bofur slaps on a carefree mask and chuckles, going into a light avoidance strategy,

"Good evening, lad!"

The prince does not budge, "Yep, quite good, now that I finally know who makes all those wonderful statuettes."

Despite the rising panic, the toymaker is surprised to find he is rather pleased to hear his work praised, after all it is the first time he sees someone's reaction to them (apart from Bombur, of course, and the laughing fit his brother had is not to be mentioned again, ever!)

"Thank you."

Kili nods, "They are marvelously done. Now, that aside, what are you doing here?"

Bofur shrugs, "Is it not obvious?"

The prince regards him for a while and nods slowly, "I suppose it is. But why are you placing gifts onto Fili's desk in secret?"

Bofur shrugs again, "That should be obvious as well."

Kili shakes his head, "Sorry, it's not."

The toymaker sags. Damn his stupid carefree attitude of not being more careful. Now he is caught and the prince doesn't give an impression the issue would be left alone that easily.

Bofur realizes he is twiddling with his hat – a habit he has when the situation is very sticky and he is very nervous. He sighs, turns around and comes closer to the desk. The figurine is wearing the same frown as the original dwarf it is made out to be.

Kili steps away from the door and puts a hand around Bofur's shoulder.

"Bofur, please, tell me, why can't you do it in person. I honestly don't understand."

Well, that is just too much to handle.

"Don't you now? That," Bofur points at the figurine, "is a courting gift."

"Yes, it's obvious," Kili nods. "It's the thirteenth you've made and placed here."

"For your brother."

"Well, of course, who else? It's Fili's desk."

"Who is a prince," Bofur is talking slowly, clearly articulating each word.

"He is," the other dwarf still looks earnestly bewildered, his brows are frowning.

"From me."

"Yes, yes, we've established that already! So?"

"But I'm a... a simple toymaker, a... a nobody, just a dwarf!" Bofur nearly shouts, throwing his arms in agitation. "Don't you see?! Your brother is the Crown Prince! He'll be the King under the Mountain one day!"

Kili's frown deepens, "So what are you saying? A King is not worthy to be loved just like any other dwarf?"

"What?" Bofur is taken aback at the turn of conversation. "No, of course not! Of course a King is worthy to be loved! Enyone is."

The prince is looking very grim and it resembles Thorin just a bit on the side of disturbing.

"Soooo... why not give it to him?"

Bofur feels like shaking him. "I am a toymaker," he all but shouts. "It's not Fili who is not worthy, it's me..." He subsides, the argument fleeing from his veins and all the misery, the pain of this burden is still there, aching and not forgotten, never forgotten. "It's me who is not worthy of your brother's love," he says very quietly.

Suddenly Kili is the one who is grabbing the other's coat and doing the shaking, "What? Who told you that?" the prince is shouting. Bofur is so startled he just endures the treatment. His hat falls on the floor. The prince lets him go, bends to pick it up, blows away the dust and hands it back to Bofur.

"Sorry about that," his expression is earnest. "But seriously though, who told you all this nonsense of you not being worthy? I have to go and kick their backside!"

The toymaker is still surprised by the outburst, "No one did. It's just is, it's obvious in itself."

"Oh yeah?" Kili looks like he might start shaking him again, or even like he's considering kicking his backside, so Bofur holds up a hand.

"Wait, take it easy. Hear me out."

The prince calms down a bit and folds his hands though his eyes are angry. That is the best Bofur is going to get, so before he loses his courage he starts to speak.

"Look, lad, all this talk and ideas of romantic love are good and dandy. But they are only good when you hear about them in ballads." Kili snorts but Bofur is going to make a point despite that.

"The reality is different, don't you see, it's much worse, it doesn't work like it does in songs... Fili is..." Bofur licks his lips – he can go on and on, and then some more about what Fili is to him, but that is not the time for it, nor the place, nor is it the company for that matter. So the dwarf continues with, "a Crown Prince with lots of responsibilities and duties, and all the things he must do for Erebor... And I just can't imagine how tremendously heavy that burden is! That is why he needs someone who can support him, someone who is much better by his side... much better than me."

The other's eyes turn sad and pensive. The prince is chewing his lip, "But Bofur, you are amazing... you are nice and kind! Heck, you are one of the most talented dwarves I know!"

"Talented? Talent for what, toy making?" he lets a little, bitter laugh. "How is that any help in running the Kingdom?"

The prince grabs the figurine from the table and thrusts it into Bofur's face, "Look at it, just _look_ at it. And if it's not the best carving of Thorin I've ever seen, I'll happily chew my boot! I bet even my uncle would say so himself. Now just don't you dare to throw your talent into gutters like that."

Now the toymaker has to admit the figurine was indeed made quite skilfully, he can take pride in this work.

 

Once the Erebor was reclaimed and the battles fought – _the blood, the horror of battle, Bofur till this day wakes up screaming from recurring nightmares, that terrible moment an orc was rising a sword right behind Fili's back_ – once a shaky peace was settled dwarves started to populate the Mountain again. Work had to be done, there was no end to all the chores that had to be fulfilled, all the toils and pains. But even in that chaotic madness Bofur found his hands carefully carving, maybe in order to distract himself from nightmares, maybe to not think of matters of heart. He made a little figurine of Fili (and if the carving was performed to distract himself from pain in his heart, well, that didn't succeed). It was a good work and not knowing what else to do with it Bofur sneaked into Fili's chamber one evening and left it on the desk. Since then he has made twelve more figurines – all the members of their company, one by one, in the order they appeared many months ago at Bilbo Baggins' front door. The order he chose as a means to be less conspicuous – he made one figurine of himself and placed it in the middle of the series; and by now half of Arda, or so it seemed, knew the tale of their adventure, so there was no giving away who the author of the gifts was, it was a secret. Until tonight.

 

Tonight he brings the thirteenth member of their company, the leader (who got lost, twice; and then again, but the third time was the most difficult for it was in the depth of the soul). Thorin Oakenshield, the King under the Mountain.

"Kili, listen," Bofur says, "your uncle would not be happy if..."

But the other dwarf doesn't want to listen, "My uncle would be happy with anyone who can support my brother! And you, Bofur," he continues in a more sedate manner, "with your painstaking patience and a good eye for fine details, to me you look like a dwarf that can do that."

"But... but I'm a simple toymaker!"

Kili sighs and says calmly, "You are the member of the company who won back Erebor from the dragon and orcs! One of the thirteen best dwarves who live in Arda today! And if you don't count Thorin, his two nephews and other members of Durin line – the ones who had _duty_ to follow our King – that leaves you only one of six dwarves, _six,_ who followed Thorin willingly! So many others didn't. And you didn't have to ether. But you did anyway. So, whoever you are, you are not simple. Sorry, Bofur."

There is so much naked honesty in that little speech, and it looks suspiciously like a blessing from the younger brother to pursue Fili's attentions, but the fears are settled in Bofur's soul so deep that these words cannot take the hurting thorn away so easily. He regards his hat solemnly, it has been with him for ages and seen his worst days and it is a witness to how ragged he really is.

"But there are so many dwarves that are much better suited..." again he tries to reason... or maybe to spill his pains and to hear they are not sound?

"No there aren't!" Kili is smiling now. "Don't you see it? Well, yes, probably many dwarves are nice and kind, and smart. But they have to _prove_ it. You don't. You've already proven it."

The prince is laughing, clapping him on a shoulder, "It's so simple, I don't get how you can not see it. Fili is the Heir to the throne of Erebor. It means there would be hundreds of dwarves who would like to be close to him. They will lie and pretend to be nice. It's something our mum always warned us about. Friends are best known in battles, and, Bofur, you _saved Fili's life_ , for Mahal's sake! So you are as good a dwarf to be by my brother's side as any you've spoken of, and even better than them... If you don't believe me, ask Thorin. I'm sure he'll say the same things."

And with that suddenly Kili is gone and Bofur is left alone in Fili's chamber.

The silence is ringing in his head; the pain is filling his heart. The dwarf looks at frowning Thorin miniature. Could he really? Well, Kili is right, if Fili has an unreachable status the King would definitely point it out. So, only one way to find out, no?

Bofur quietly closes the door and walks away – he has a lot to think about.

_\- TBC -_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This started like a little one-shot, but the thing has a life of its own, so it grew bigger and now it's a full blown three chapter fic. Good grief.  
> Anyway, next chapter – the audience with the King.
> 
> *looks around* do you like the beginning? Please tell me what you think!


	2. the Audience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Self-doubt can be one of the most poisonous things. And heroism can be found in the unlikeliest places and midst strangest times.  
> Now has a hint of Thorin/Bilbo, very subtle – blink and you'll miss it. And there is a reference to Terry Pratchett's Discworld, I wonder if you can notice it?

Bofur is pacing right at the entrance to the royal chambers. He is nervous and even smoking the pipe weed Bilbo left him as a parting gift hasn't helped to calm his shaky spirits down. He received a note stating the schedule of the King for entire week with all the times Thorin is supposed to be alone carefully underlined. The note was signed, "From your secret friend." The toymaker deems that Kili is unduly amused in his plan to help Bofur to meet the King alone and uninterrupted. Frankly, it is not helping. He never imagined himself as heroic, even though he performed acts that were claimed to be such by others.

Oh well, Bofur sighs, he lived through a terrible battle. Talking to the King under the Mountain should be easy in comparison. Theoretically. Gathering all the courage he can muster and discarding unnecessary panicky thoughts of whether he should leave the hat on his head or take it off, Bofur knocks and enters hardly waiting for an answer.

Thorin is sitting at his desk and further inspections reveal he is writing something that looks suspiciously like one of the letters to their esteemed burglar and friend Bilbo Baggins. Honestly, it seems like the whole of Erebor knows the King and the hobbit are engaged in correspondence; yet no dwarf is brave or foolish enough to comment on the fact. At least not to Thorin's face. Well, maybe Fili and Kili do, knowing those two.

Bofur shakes his head to dislodge the skittering thoughts; he has to focus on the matter at hand. He steps closer to the Ruler of Erebor willing his knees not to buckle.

Thorin looks up, smiles and puts away his glasses, "Bofur, my friend. Come, take a seat."

The dwarf does so. His tongue is probably left behind the closed doors for he can't quite speak. The King regards him for some time and the toymaker struggles with the urge to twiddle with his hat.

"Tell me, what brings you here tonight?"

Oh, to seven hells with it, there's no beating around the bush, is there?

"Your Majesty," he starts, but is interrupted.

"Bofur, really, there is no need for such formalities. Thorin would do, as I have told you before. At least when there are no elven diplomats around," he adds sourly.

Bofur clears his throat and tries again, quickly saying a mental prayer to Mahal - their Creator, "Thorin, I... well, it's about Fili..."

The King nods – there are no signs the toymaker will be facing the wrath of royal retribution for daring to ask such questions. Yet.

"I've been giving him gifts for some time," he decides to start from afar, maybe then the courage would come. "Gifts I carved myself. Figurines. Of the members of the Company."

The Ruler of Erebor still looks at him blankly, so Bofur stammers, "I mean, courting gifts. In secret... Fili doesn't know they are from me."

"Ah," Thorin says, "so _you_ are the one who left them on my nephew's desk, no?"

Bofur nods, he is utterly terrified now. The floor holds his gaze and the toymaker expects lightning and thunder to smite him where he sits. Yet none comes. He risks a glance at the King. Thorin is watching him calmly, wearing a pensive expression. This gives Bofur enough encouragement to continue with his admission.

"Yes. I'm not sure I am allowed to give them in person... and not secretly."

"Why not?"

The dwarf squirms in his seat. Honestly, like uncle, like nephew – does Thorin not see the obstacles in the way, just like Kili? Why must it be Bofur who points the issue out? It is painful enough to understand the impossibility of his wish, and now he has to pour it out, to explain it in detail.

"Because I'm a simple dwarf not of a noble line."

"So you think you are not good enough for Fili?"

"Yes."

And it's just that. Bofur squeezes his eyes shut. Any moment now the King will agree with him and will inform, in a polite manner, that his nephew is the heir to the throne and would require a consort of noble line, befitting his status. And not someone like him. _At least_ , he thinks, _I've tried, the coward that I am._

But Thorin remains silent.

Minutes pass. Then, at last, the Kings says, "You know, I wondered why you haven't started to court Fili yet. Now I have the answer. Hmmm," he strokes his beard pensively.

Bofur doesn't know what to say, so he remains silent. His mind has wrung all the thoughts in that effort of a confession and now nothing is left – he told what he came here for and he is not thrown out of the royal chambers so far. Thorin clearly understands the problem, yet says nothing about it. Well, Bofur apparently has to wait so he patiently sits there on a comfortable guest chair.

The King stops staring at a point on the wall and shuffles around, lifting papers and peaking under documents on the desk. Eventually he finds something he has been searching and passes it to the other dwarf.

"Do you know what it is?"

Bofur looks at the piece of paper. There is something drawn on it in light-brown ink and he recognizes it immediately.

"Yes. It's Sting, Bilbo's weapon."

Thorin nods, "You know its name. Yet when Bilbo found it many months ago in the trolls' cave it had none."

Bofur's heart starts to beat faster. He believes he understands what his Majesty the King is alluding, the metaphor is obvious. His thoughts are racing and there is a glint of desperate hope peeking through layers upon layers of doubts, so he can only whisper in wonder, "A letter opener."

"Aye, and now a recognizable weapon whose name will be sung in ballads."

Hope is blossoming in his chest now. But no, Bofur stomps on it heavily, no, this is just a metaphor – a long life of tale-telling has taught him one can find a pretty metaphor to suite practically anything and it in turn proves nothing. Besides, swords are no dwarfs, nor toymakers, nor miners. And he cannot afford this foolish hope to lift him up into the fluffy clouds of open possibilities and then abandon him to smack hard into stone cold reality.

"But I'm not..." Bofur tries. Thorin interrupts him.

"Why not? I know Ori has been asking around for the details of the battle so that he can write a song. Many songs, in fact, but the one he was particularly interested in was about how you heroically saved Fili's life."

This information is new and it is completely unexpected – there will be a song about him, him of all dwarves? But Bofur knows the bitter truth behind the story.

"Your Majesty, I am no hero, nor a great fighter. I just saw an orc trying to slay Fili and I couldn't let that happen. So I rushed there and it was only by Mahal's blessing that I managed to nullify that attempt. I was just lucky, 'tis all."

Thorin lets out an abrupt, bright laugh. Bofur blinks at him, half hurt for a supposed mocking of his anguish.

But the King is smiling. "My friend," he attests warmly, "do you think that great heroes of old times performed their heroic acts for different reasons? Do you think something different compelled them than what urged you? All heroes did not wish their loved ones to be hurt. And if you believe someone would ride out to face an army only for the sake of an epic song written afterwards..." Thorin shakes his head, "No, tis no hero but a vain, dimwitted tree-climber. And you should have listened to one of Balin's lectures on unnecessary heroics and thick-skulled bravery."

Bofur thinks about it and has to admit that from his younger age he always pictured heroes of ballads as nigh unworldly dwarves, as brilliant figures who stroll to slay a dreadful dragon because they know they can do it. To think that glorious heroes were once ordinary dwarves with the same doubts and fears... It's a revelation. But some of them, like great B'hrian Bloodaxe, were from ordinary families of miners. So before they became heroes of great honor thy must have dealt with the mundane problems of everyday life.

"I never thought of that," the toymaker admits and dares to laugh a little.

"I reckoned so," Thorin nods. "But never you doubt, if it wasn't for Balin teaching us, we would harbor the same notions. Young Kili and Fili would probably have rushed into the first available battle just because they could. Mind you, they still acted foolishly brave despite all admonition."

Bofur smiles at that image, the two princes were a handful when they were young and he rememberes them all too well, as he wasn't much older and lived nearby. On many occasions the toymaker in training heard grumbling laments of older dwarves about foolhardy escapades of young Fili and Kili. Often such complaints ended on a bemoaning note of what would become of dwarves in the future, may Mahal save them.

One of such mischievous antics is especially vivid in Bofur's memory. He remembers all too well the sound of scurrying feet and next a young fair-haired dwarf collided with him and there they stood, looking bewildered at each other while the rest of the world swam in and out of focus. And then something breathtakingly amazing happened – the fair-haired dwarf smiled radiantly, gripped his shoulders and leaned closer to bump their foreheads together – scandalizing act! – murmured a quick apology and rushed away still chuckling. Young Bofur was left there with his heart in his throat, feeling hot and cold at the same time. Later the toymaker in training found out the fair-haired dwarf was no other but Fili son of Dis, the heir to the throne of Erebor after Thorin Oakenshield. At that time Bofur was too youthful and ignorant for such thing to matter and to stand in the way. Only shortly afterwards Fili and his brother Kili started to travel with their uncle. Vala only knew where their journeys took them and what training they had to endure, though young toymaker apprentice often daydreamed about adventures the princes must have been part of. Bofur hardly ever saw Fili again, so in time he tried to throw the notion out of his mind, completed his training and there was never much time to contemplate such stuff any more. And if he occasionally carved a little shape of lion or if he marveled at golden hews of autumn – who was there to judge him? The toymaker build a live for himself, a life of craft and artistry, of intricate work and awed children to enjoy the products. He was a dwarf praised for his art.

Yet when Thorin, King under the Mountain, came to ask for volunteers to join the quest to reclaim Erebor, there was no doubt whether Bofur would follow. Fili was going, and the quest promised to be deadly dangerous and if by a stroke of luck Bofur could in any way help him, small as it might be, then he would die a content dwarf.

And now he is sitting in the royal chambers, in Erebor, and is asking the King for a permission to court the Crown Prince. Who would have thought it might come to this?

Bofur emerges from his reminiscence and laughs a bit to cover for the stretched silence.

"Yes, I remember Fili and Kili as they were young."

"I'm sure you do." Thorin regards him, "On that subject, there is something I wanted to ask your for a while now."

The other dwarf waits, unsure what to expect.

"Did you agree to join my quest because of Fili?"

Bofur just nods, and in a croaked voice adds, "And because Bifur was going... I... I wanted to keep an eye on both of them."

Thorin strokes his beard, "I thought as much," and gets up to stand in front of his guest.

"Bofur, I've told so before about those who decided to join me – honor, willing heart and loyalty, – there is nothing more I could ask for. And I repeat it now to you." The King lays a hand on his shoulder, "There is no other quality I would look for in a dwarf that wants to court Fili. Except that such dwarf must also love my nephew, but I know you do. And you possess all the traits I wish for Fili's suitor to have. So I grant you my permission to pursue him. In fact I urge you to do so, and I will give you my help if you need it."

Bofur opens his mouth to say something because, clearly, he must answer, but all that comes out is a jumbled, "But... but..." for his head is filled with mixed incredulousness, hope and inability to believe what is happening is actually true.

Thorin laughs not unkindly and claps his guest on a slumped shoulder, hard. The shock of it is jolting enough for Bofur to drop back to his senses.

"I... I can't believe it," he admits.

"I can see that. But it's fine. Take your time," Thorin gets back to his desk and picks up the paper he has been writing on earlier that evening. Then the King turns his gaze to look at the other dwarf, who is glued to the chair still lost in thought. Bofur senses that he is being scrutinized and looks back. There is a glint in Thorin's eyes that suddenly resembles Kili, when the younger prince is about to trick an unsuspecting soul.

"You know, Bofur, my nephew is quite smart. Both of them, in fact, are. Fili figured out the timing pattern of the gift's appearance and even ordered the guards to leave the chambers unoccupied for the last nine occasions. First four were when Erebor was being rebuild and not many guards were around," the King is looking at him, examining his reaction, as if Thorin is privy to a secret and is laughing behind his beard at his guest's unawareness.

Bofur once again feels a vertigo in his mind. This meeting hasn't proceeded quite as he planned and each next thing Thorin says is even more surprising than the previous one.

"What? You mean I could have sneaked into Fili's chambers uninterrupted because he ordered the guards away?"

"Precisely," the Ruler of Erebor nods. "And yet it was Kili who caught you. I wonder why?"

With those words he busies himself with the papers and it is clear the audience is over.

Feeling like there is nothing in his head but sand, and it too is quickly pouring out of his ears, Bofur stands up and walks out of the royal chamber. His legs are working awkwardly as if the dwarf has been a carved statuette himself and now some spell brought him to life.

Carvings. Little statuettes. Gifts. Bofur still has one last figurine to give to Fili. And now he has the permission to do so from Fili's uncle and he also has the blessing of Fili's brother. Maybe it is time to stop being a coward and give the last gift in person?

_\- TBC -_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm enamored with this couple, really I am.  
> Next chapter: confessions.
> 
> I'd love to know what you think of this story so far.


	3. Confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, holding the last carving as a shield in front of him, Bofur meets Fili tête-a-tête. 
> 
> _Warning:_ extremely mushy soppiness ahead with sugary overdose. Honestly, might be enough for your insulin not to cope with it.
> 
> (and all mistakes are mine, as the tag says the story is not Beta-read)

Bilbo Baggins stares and Bofur stares right back at him. The hobbit manages to combine an unusual set of expressions: amused quirk of lips, half-worried frown and arms akimbo in exasperation – as if the burglar knows this opponent is acting like a stubborn child (which Bofur is not, thank you very much). The carving is magnificent; it is one of his best works, hands down. It even managed to convey the unruliness of the curly locks of the hobbit. And now this accomplishment of a statuette is standing right on Fili's desk, right in Fili's chambers and Bofur is present right beside it waiting for Fili to come. Right.

The dwarf tries to distract himself from envisioning what would happen when the owner of the room steps inside it, so he imagines talking to his dear friend Bilbo instead.

"It's no use telling me I'll be fine," he says quietly. The carving of the hobbit remains unrelenting in its answering silence. Bofur has spent the entire day contemplating all possible (and some of the impossible) scenarios of upcoming encounter, each and every one of them promised heartbreak and suffering for the toymaker. Although Hope, traitorous and mean thing that she is, whispers unwise promises... but they are completely unbelievable and he knows it.

Bofur wants to bolt out of the chamber but he has come through so many obstacles and tough choices already. Mahal's smiting Hammer, he even confronted the King and got his blessings. To chicken out now would be, well, not unthinkable (for it is difficult _not_ to think about it) but just plain wrong. And blast that smidgen of hope that blossoms in his heart to the seven's level of Moria, it would do him little good.

"Look, Bilbo," the toymaker tries to reason with the frowning statue, "I'm going to confess and Fili will say he is sorry, but he's not interested. We will remain the best of buddies, I will pretend it's not such a big deal, honestly. And sooner or later the lad will find himself a noble someone for a consort, so everyone will be happy... apart from me, but I'll live... somehow. Perhaps Thorin will put a comforting hand on my shoulder – it's not even going to be a forced gesture, now that he knows something about love himself... Speaking of it, why did you have to leave, Bilbo?"

The carving doesn't magically spring to life in order to answer all those questions so the dwarf groans and wishes he could take out the pipe, stuff it with the weed the hobbit left him and puff on it till the chamber is filled with smoke, so that the prince would not notice him once he comes here. But he can't, thus Bofur pulls at the ends of his hat flaps so that they cover his ears and meet under his chin. This action muffles the outside world and only the erratic beating of his own heart is herd. It sounds too much like footsteps so the toymaker lets go.

The sound doesn't stop, it is indeed the echo of treading feet and soon dim orange light is seen through the crack in the door. _This is it, tonight it ends_ , Bofur thinks he might die of anticipation.

The door is opened and Fili steps into the room, caring a single candle and some papers that hold all his focus, so that the prince doesn't immediately notice he's got a guest. When he does glance up and sees the toymaker, Fili stops. A look of mild surprise is quickly changed in favor of a warm smile, and the other dwarf curses himself for his heartbeat is once again deafening and all thoughts are gone.

"Bofur!" the prince greets him and damn it all, but it sounds so pleasant. "What are you doing here so late at night when we ha..." Fili freezes abruptly. His eyes are fixed on the desk. On the carving of Bilbo Baggins standing there, so obvious in its resemblance to the thirteen previous statuettes. An awestruck gaze travels from it to the toymaker and back again.

Bofur stands there, his right hand is tightly clutching the left one. He has got a speech prepared, and oh why can't he remember it? If only he can recall the first sentence or at least a few first words of it, the rest will surely follow suit. But it doesn't spring up and his tongue is tied.

Meanwhile the prince manages to get a grip enough to mumble, "What? Bofur... You?"

And it compels the toymaker to answer, "Yes, me... I carved those statuettes... and then I was too afraid to give them to you in person... And then, I mean, and now I am not. Afraid, that is..." Even though he is, he's practically trembling in his boots. The prince doesn't have to know it though.

Fili steps closer with a look of utter amazement and wonder and lifts the carving from the desk. He inspects it closely.

"It's beautiful... But... But, Bofur, why?" and those clear eyes are focused on the toymaker, pinning him to the spot.

Bofur's palms are sweaty. _It's not too late_ , he thinks, _to say it's just a gift, an act of friendship_. And surely Kili saw right through him, when he was caught in this very chamber a month ago. To the younger Durin prince it was obvious _what exactly_ the carving revealed and symbolized. Why then must Fili leave an opening, a possibility for escape? Such a smart lad that he is... Unless... and there Bofur sees something in the younger dwarf's eyes, and that something kindles the sparks of his impossible hope and makes it swell and consume him... But, no it couldn't be, just couldn't be... Yet Bofur faced the terror of watching his love almost die in the battle, so this admission should be easy, like a piece of dwarf's bread. So he plunges forward.

"It was meant as a courting gift... It is not a traditional one, not made of metal and jewels, I'll grant you that, but it portrays the company, our friends, and I... well, I thought it'd be appropriate."

Fili's eyes are still wide, full of wonder, and impossibly green. He sets the statuette back on the desk beside the papers he discarded earlier and steps closer to the other dwarf.

"It's you... " he whispers. "Bofur, it's _you_!"

The toymaker awaits his fate, expecting disbelief to be followed by cold, polite, insistent and merciless No. He can't quite maintain the eye contact so instead he examines the floor, dully noticing the prince's boots coming closer to his own sturdy and muddy ones. Why didn't he think of cleaning them before coming here?

A hand touches his face and gently lifts it so the two look eye to eye. Fili is smiling, biting his lip and searching the other's expression. "Thank you. I'm so glad it's you, Bofur." 

"Wha?.."

But the prince laughs, his hand darts down from Bofur's face to cup his palm and he bumps their foreheads together looking at the hands entwined between them.

"Oh, Mahal, I was so afraid it _wasn't_ you. The way you looked at me after the battle of Five armies, it gave me hope. And those gifts started to appear out of nowhere on my desk – they looked so much like something you would do." Fili swallows thickly, his gaze still focused downwards, "But it was too good to be true, why on Arda would you even be interested in someone like me? So I couldn’t believe it... And now... Now it really is you! Thank you, Bofur. Thank you."

The older dwarf can all but stand there. Fili is pressed so close and fair braids are tickling his forehead. Their noses are almost touching; a calloused thumb is stroking his wrist right under the mitten, so distractingly. They are breathing the same air, which makes it so difficult to think. Yet an echo of the prince's words finally gets caught in a working part of his mind, and Bofur blinks incredulous – he never imagined the same fears could plague Fili's pretty head!

Bofur steps back – just a smidgen, a distance that allows him to look at his friend in puzzlement but not a hair's width more, for nothing would compel him to step further away from the touch he desperately craved for so long.

"What do you mean, too good to be true? Fili, it's you we are talking about. A fair and clever prince, heir to the throne, for Mahal's sake!"

The younger dwarf looks a bit pained, "You don't even know how tedious getting involved with royalty can be, and of Durin's line no less." That statement strikes too close to the doubts and fears that were gnawing at the toymaker, but what Fili says next is completely reversed from what he expects. 

"There are intrigues and backstabbing at the court, and you are constantly – constantly! – being watched, nothing you ever do is a secret. There is also a possible mind sickness, gold sickness in my family... Oh, Bofur," Fili is desperate, "the honorable thing for me to do now is to warn you, as it is possible the line of Durin is cursed! Are..." he hesitates, "are you sure you want to court me? Absolutely sure?" And there is pain written all over his face.

Bofur actually spares a thought to consider it. But then he followed Thorin on an impossible quest with a maddening goal without fears and second thoughts and all of it mainly to keep an eye on his golden haired nephew. (Well, to be honest Bifur was going and Bombur thought it was a good idea, but the first thing to come to his mind when the King asked them was that on this journey he would spend a lot of time with Fili) So now was it really a question he didn't know the answer to? Bofur asks instead.

"Do you want me to?" Because really, that is all that matters.

Fili searches his face and the time it takes the prince to answer is long, an Age or eternity and everything stands still but then Fili nods and Bofur breathes again.

Their faces are leaning closer.

"May I kiss you?" Fili whispers.

and without further thoughts Bofur presses himself closer, so much closer. Lips part at his touch and they are impossibly soft, with a calloused line from all the biting Fili does when nervous, Bofur saw him do it so many times and now there is nothing stopping him so Bofur bites that callousness and Fili is moaning in answer. There are hands in his hair – where did his hat go? – clutching, tugging and cradling the back of his neck. Lips part wider, Bofur's hand fists the fabric of Fili's tunic, and who would ever thought that the prince has such a small and easily clutchable frame – for all the impressive fighter that he is – but that makes it so delightfully easy for Bofur to reach right around the waist and tug Fili closer, and then a bit more closer, though it might never be close enough. _Why was I resisting it for so long?_ Bofur spares a thought but then he shudders because Fili has bitten a spot just below his ear and now is licking the place. It is wet and warm and absolutely wonderful. All he can do is lift his head to allow a better access, because his thoughts are swirling hazily – the smell, the taste of Fili, oh how perfect. 

His eyes blurrily roam the chamber and settle on the statue on the desk. It takes a minute for Bofur to register an almost scolding look on Bilbo Baggins, but when he does, he suddenly remembers it is a prince he has in his arms. Fili surely deserves a proper courting and Bofur in no thief to steal something precious in the quiet of the night, but an honorable dwarf, well, at least his intentions are honorable. He will abide by traditions. Showing a remarkable strength of will Bofur disentangles himself from the younger dwarf. Fili looks at him with eyes that have more black of the pupil than color and Bofur's head spins, but he manages to hold himself from such temptations.

He smiles and tries to speak, but his voice is hoarse so he must clear his throat first. "Steady there, love," Bofur takes the prince's hands and places small kisses on each knuckle. "I am not senile enough to forget how proper courting is conducted."

Fili sighs at that, closes his eyes and tries to calm himself. But he nods and smiles, squeezing Bofur's hands in return. "You are right, of course."

They bump their foreheads together. The other dwarf is snuggled warmly in his arms and Bofur feels content. Then something nudges at his mind and he has to voice it.

"I'm sorry, my prince. I came here empty-handed. I haven't even begun to prepare a proper courting gift for you. I can't present the braid clasps for you to wear. I..." he falters, "I never thought you would accept me as a suitor... and so..."

"Oh hush," Fili is gently cupping his chin. "Bofur, I don't care for any traditions. I wish it was easier done. Now we will be watched and weighted as if the other dwarves have any say in this," the prince's eyes blaze yet he softens and looks at Bofur imploringly. "But Bofur, whatever they say, you should know I love you."

"You give your heart away for a cheap price, my prince," he croaks through dry lips.

But Fili just smiles, "I give my heart for free... To a certain dwarf."

Bofur feels his chest fill with giddy happiness, and he can't help but quip, "Aye, who's that might be?"

The impish lad pretends to think, looking up and smiling, "Well, he is someone very kind, and amazing, and talented, and funny and very, very brave."

"Brave? Are you joking? Do you know how difficult it was for me not to bold through the door today? And I had plenty opportunities, waiting for you."

"But you are here. And you are braver that me," now the prince is studiously inspecting the floor and admits shyly, "You know I've been crafting you a courting gift... But was such a coward so I haven't even dared to finish it, for if I did I would have had to give it to you and..." he stops and glances at the older dwarf with an embarrassed little smile. _He doesn't even know how endearing he is looking_ , thinks the older dwarf, but out loud he says,

"Oh, really? Dearie me, now I will have to wait for you to finish it... Unless," he winks, "you show it to me now, even if it's unfinished." And as the prince is starting to protest the work is really not ready to be seen yet, he adds, "Just a peak, a little one, please!" and winks again for good measure.

But what this unfinished gift really means is that Fili thought about Bofur, all this time when he thought of Fili. Well, isn't he the luckiest dwarf?

Fili relents, shakes his head and bends to pick up the other's hat, "All right, but just one peak. And then you let me finish it properly."

Bofur agrees to the terms, takes the hat and bends to place a quick kiss on Fili's lips, just because he can.

The prince smiles and takes his hand, but then turns around and heads for the desk with a purposeful look. He takes the statuette of Bilbo and places it on the shelf, where the rest of the Company is placed. Bofur notices with a little flutter of happiness that his and Fili's carvings are standing close together. He smiles at his love and follows him. He is definitely the luckiest dwarf.

In the empty chamber the shelf finally contains all fourteen members of the Company. Bilbo Baggins was added to the thirteen dwarves, a bit late perhaps, but just as he was almost late for the meeting that took place so many months ago. The hobbit is placed right beside the frowning King of the Mountain. And the carving of Thorin may or may not give a smile at that.

_\- Fin -_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked the story. I am sorry for not updating for months. I lost interest in the fandom and had to wait for it to come back. But now I have several ideas for new fics, and can't wait to write them!
> 
> And as promised, here are the Discworld references I sneaked into the story: first there's the legendary B'hrian Bloodaxe, great warrior who got a piece of Truth and baked it into the Scone of Stone, and now everyone touching it tells the truth and cannot lie (sort of); and of course there was dwarf bread... Kudos to you if you noticed them.


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